


Chlorophyll

by sasha_b



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-09
Updated: 2011-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles makes his own fall traditions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chlorophyll

“Leaves are one of nature’s miracles.”

Erik has a brief moment where he wants to rub at the bridge of his nose, tightly, pinching away the pain. Instead he smiles brightly and leans against the tree Charles is reaching up to touch. Sun dapples the ground, the aforementioned leaves creating patterns not even an artist could duplicate. The air is crisp and Erik’s rollneck sweater is warm and his hair is wild from the breeze that shakes and trembles the branches.

The mansion is a mile behind them; Charles had wanted to walk out from the children, and Erik had no plans (save those he always has), and he agreed when Charles suggested they go together “for a walk. Physical exercise is healthy, as much as the brain tweaking we’ve been doing is.”

Charles’ hands are partially covered with fingerless gloves, and he reaches up again, plucking a purple leaf off the oak they are currently under. “Photosynthesis. Beautiful, simple, a miracle. The transition of water and carbon dioxide into sugar and oxygen – leaves are nature’s perfect food machines.” He twirls the one in his hand, his hair sliding over his left eye for a moment. Erik moves to automatically push it back, but Charles turns, his tweed coat swinging with his motions, the ends of his scarf visible at the side of either hip. Erik smiles behind his hand, shaking his head slightly. Today is quiet and he finds he’s not too distracted (his mind is never slow, but today is quiet, the only word for it really) and cocks an eyebrow as he follows Charles slowly, the crunching of the tree detritus under his feet soft, a carpet of broken branches and leaves.

They crackle their way toward the open meadow at the edge of the tree line; Erik shoves his hands into his pockets and listens halfway to Charles’ animated conversation (albeit one sided) about the changing of the seasons and why he’s always loved this time of year.

“…and the purple is from undigested glucose, most of the time. Erik, am I boring you?”

Erik jerks his eyes to Charles (the sun in Charles’ hair turning it as many colors as the leaves) and rubs the bridge of his nose at last. “Do you ever just enjoy anything?”

A laugh; it’s much more bitter than Erik’s used to hearing. “That’s strange, coming from you.” Charles twirls the leaf again. “I am interested in the beauty I find all around us, from the simplest of things,” he waves it at Erik, “to the most complex.” He touches Erik’s forehead with the tip of the leaf and smiles, although it’s small and lost on his expressive face. “My family didn’t take much stock in traditions. I made my own.”

He turns his back on Erik and wanders into the meadow, passing the purple leaf back and forth between gloved hands. Brilliant bright sun, trees surrounding them, their colors as though they are on fire – chill breeze, warm clothing, and quiet solitude. Erik feels guilty for a moment; he knows Charles didn’t have an easy childhood.

But some things cannot be fixed – only forgiven or forgotten. And he’s not the right man to do those things for Charles. Those things define Charles, make him who he is, helped formulate his life and develop his mutation –

Erik fully believes in pain; it has proven more powerful than love in his life. And he won’t take that away from Charles either. He wouldn’t even know where to begin to separate it from Charles, much less himself.

Truth be told, he wouldn’t want to.

He squeezes his hands into fists (the rage has served him well all this time) and then shuffles through the fallen leaves to where Charles is standing, the purple leaf (slightly crumpled) in the fingers of his right hand as he stares at nothing (Erik’s always wondered how that is even possible). Sighing – not in his usual repertoire – he shoves Charles’ errant lock of hair back behind the other man’s ear, the fingers lingering over the shell and the lobe.

“Undigested glucose?”

“Beauty in all of nature.”

Charles holds up the leaf. The purple is almost see-through in the sun, the veins strong and thick. Erik reaches up a hand and touches it, following Charles’ arm as he lowers it, the leaf stuck between their fingers as they entwine.

“There’s nothing beautiful about me, Charles.”

Charles cants his head and narrows his eyes even as he stares into the sunny distance. The wind picks up his hair and tosses it; he smiles and licks dry lips. “Everything about you is beautiful.”

Erik’s eyes follow Charles’ gaze into the sun bronzed horizon and keeps his mouth shut.


End file.
